


Volume

by pickleplum



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Male Friendship, Music, Sleep Deprived Scientists, Unexpected Taste in Music, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickleplum/pseuds/pickleplum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knocks. He knocks again, louder. He gives in and pounds on the steel with his fist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Volume

"That's downright rude, head. Not how I want to start a new year," Tendo Choi groans, rolling over very, **very** slowly and cracking an eye he's certain is bloodshot. "Oh man. It **can't** be that early."

The clock on the desk across his tiny room screams **05:37** in migraine-red LCD digits.

"Ohh ... **shit**."

The tiny 'PM' next to the numbers is illuminated.

He giggles and his eyes tear. "Soldiers know how to party ... ," he sighs as he oozes off the mattress and claws his way to the sink for a fistful of aspirin and a tall glass of water.

After ten minutes the room stops reeling but the pounding which woke him in the first place hasn't. "That's music, not my hangover," he mumbles. He shoves off the edge of the sink and walks (carefully) to the door and follows the racket to the next room along the hall. He knocks. He knocks again, louder. He gives in and pounds on the steel with his fist.

The occupant finally opens the door, looking surly, and the volume jumps at least another ten decibels. Tendo's eyes feel like they're bouncing with each snap of the snare drum.

"Yes?" the guy asks in a crisp, annoyed British accent. The dark circles under his eyes would make the most gothic goth proud and he's leaning on both a cane and the doorframe to stay upright. He clearly gives Tendo a once-over and **blushes** when it registers his visitor stands in the corridor wearing only a t-shirt and boxers before politely focusing on Tendo's face.

"How can you stand this noise in the shape you're in, brother? You look like I feel," Tendo blurts.

"I beg your pardon," the guy huffs, but makes no effort to straighten up.

"Your hangover. Have you even slept yet?"

The guy manages to look even more offended, which is pretty miraculous.

"Waitaminute," Tendo says with a squint before the other man can open his mouth. "I didn't see you at the party. Come to think of it, I don't think I've **ever** seen you before." He offers his hand. "I'm Tendo Choi. These slavedrivers have me working logistics."

The other guy sighs and returns a firm, dry shake. "Doctor Hermann Gottlieb. I'm working on the operating system and AI for the Jaegers."

Tendo whistles and Gottlieb raises an eyebrow in response. " **You're** that guy?"

"You seem surprised."

"I **am** surprised, man. People were talking about you like you were some kind of crotchety old professor. You're maybe my age. And you're listening to ... this." Tendo waves a limp hand toward the room behind Gottlieb.

Gottlieb's lips bend into something which might just, barely, qualify as a smile. "I believe it's the accent and the emphasis on work over play." He yawns so widely behind his hand his jaw cracks. "Excuse me," he says quietly.

"You're excused," Tendo laughs.  "It's nice meeting you, Doctor, but please turn it down or put on headphones or maybe get some rest. Everyone else on this hall is probably trying to sleep off the party."

"My apologies for disturbing you, Mister Choi. I'll adjust the volume." Gottlieb pries himself off the doorframe and wobbles a bit as he shifts his weight.

"You're thinking of going back to work." Tendo shakes his head and shoos the doctor back into his room. "Don't. Seriously, brother, go to bed."

"Thank you for your concern," Gottlieb sniffs, but ruins the effect by yawning again. "Perhaps I will do just that." He turns and starts to close the door.

Tendo sticks out his bare foot, hoping it doesn't get crushed. "Say, you want to do breakfast tomorrow? I don't know about you, but I'll be in the mood for some serious food **and** I like to get to know my neighbors."

Gottlieb hesitates, then says, "I would enjoy that, I think. Would oh-seven-hundred be too early? I need to be in the coding department by oh-eight-hundred."

"That'll be just fine, Doctor. See you in the morning."

Gottlieb nods and Tendo waves more cheerily than he feels as the door closes. A moment later, the noise from Gottlieb's room stops.

"Great. Now I can sleep this the rest of the way off," Tendo mumbles as he hauls himself back into his quarters. "Breakfast should be interesting. That guy must have a hell of a story to tell."

He sets his alarm and is out cold again in minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> The song playing in the background during this encounter is ["The Agfers of Kodack"](http://youtu.be/06nGflI1juM) by Wire. It's the fifth track on _Send_. It's the fourth song, the migraine-worthy ["Comet"](http://youtu.be/9MIrSbhJQIM), which forces Tendo out his door.
> 
> The lyrics to "The Agfers of Kodack" strike me as fairly fitting for a _Pacific Rim_ fanmix:
> 
> Nest in a bird, an enemy flew in  
> Fashion a life out of audio ruin  
> Farmers of God, is it good what you're doing?  
> Chanting a curse whilst religiously chewing
> 
> Is it time to repair? Is it time for unlocking?  
> To the shrine of the nomads, the pilgrims are flocking  
> Tracing a bee-line to witness a flogging  
> A slayer of giants in the finest of stockings  
> Tracing a bee-line to witness a flogging  
> A slayer of giants in the finest of stockings
> 
> Hearing the cheering of mothers and daughters  
> There's change in the air and a shortage of water  
> A bounty is posted, conditions: no quarter  
> Don't bargain with fish which are still in the water
> 
> A love of the camera; a stomach for slaughter  
> Fresh from the front: our favourite reporter  
> The risks are increasing, she'd hang if they caught her  
> The odds on survival grow shorter and shorter ...


End file.
